


A Gift

by mphilipak



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mphilipak/pseuds/mphilipak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke gets an embaressingly wonderful gift from Varric, and a subtle gift from Fenris. I quote directly from the game, all rights go to Bioware. I own nothing. </p><p>Was originally meant for a project in my creative writing class, so I had to keep it teen rated. May work on it in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gift

Hawke really did appreciate his friends. Despite their differences, they'd come together and had saved his life, as well as so many others, defeating impossible foes that the average person couldn't dream of facing.

  
However, there were times that Hawke really wished his friends would stop being themselves.

  
It hadn't been a fortnight after Mother had received the deed to the manor from the Viscount of Kirkwall, and Hawke's companions had taken it upon themselves to fill his house with various items and artifacts they "strongly" felt needed a place in his living space. When he first came in with his Mother in hand, she nearly cried from both happiness and grief. The childhood home she remembered, full of life and a loving family, had been left ransacked by the slavers who had taken hold of the manor previously. There was little left that had originally been part of Mother's memory, but Mother was an optimist, something she gave - had given - to Bethany.

  
The thought of Bethany shot a pang of emotion throughout his chest, spreading like wildfire. It had been two years since the ogre tore Bethany from them, but it might as well of been just yesterday for Hawke. There was not a night were he was filled with regret. It was his duty as her big brother to save her, the princess, in the fairy tales he had told her as a little girl, still in pigtails. Within time, perhaps, he would learn to forgive himself. At least with Bethany, he knew she was at rest. Carver was still lost to him, and not knowing if he was dead or alive often times drew him mad. The Grey Wardens took him, and have allowed no knowledge of Carver to slip past their lips, if any was to be given. For all of Hawke's feelings of angst, he couldn't even imagine what Mother must be feeling. To lose one, and possibly both of the twins, in a year... it must truly be maddening. Hawke often wondered what Uncle Gamlen thought of the situation, but it's not as if Gamlen could become sober long enough to actually understand and answer such a thing, the old drunk bastard.

  
Hawke was forcibly jerked out of his morose thoughts as a jeering Isabella, accompanied by a swaggering Varric, who was carrying a box full of Maker knows what, burst through the front door. Standing up off the staircase, he stretched with his hands above his head and felt several satisfying pops throughout his spine, gently sighing in satisfaction. Opening his eyes, he let the slight blur in his eye sight pass and lazily slid down the guard rail, meeting the two giggling over what was probably a dirty joke that Isabella had heard, or made up, today.

  
"Alright you two," Hawke said while meeting Isabella's sultry gaze, " my mother," nodding towards her quaint spot in a cozy chair by the fireplace, " is here, so for the love of the Maker, don't do anything."

  
Isabella rolled her eyes and arched her back, forcing what lay beneath her low cut corset to fight it's bindings. "Oh blast, and here I was hoping for a bit of fun." She was biting at her bottom lip, trying to win whatever game she had suddenly created.

  
Hawke found it difficult to keep eye contact, but stood fast in the..... important task of staying on topic. He raised his eyebrow expectantly at her, and she immediately gave in, crossing her arms as she began to tie the top half of her corset together. "You're no fun at all Hawke."

  
"Agh, it's ok Rivaini," Varric remarked," it's not as if we'll be here for very long. You'll be able to breath just fine when we get back to the Hanged Man, trust me."  
"Toss in a sweet moment with Bianca and you have yourself a deal, sweetheart."

 

Varric subconsciously reached for Bianca, his beloved crossbow that he never parted with.

  
"She could use a woman's touch, wouldn't you agree Hawke?" Hawke knew when to not tread on a sensitive topic, and Bianca was one of the few for Varric. Thus, Isabella got only a meager shrug out of him.

  
"I'm the only touch Bianca needs." Varric whipped out, almost jealous. That's when a slight chuckle escaped Hawke's lips and he immediately stifled it, fearful for a rumor to instantly start about some embarrassing secret that Hawke "had." His eyes slightly squinting, Varric himself began the rumble within his chest, and Isabella's rich laughter gently reached the two of them, and the static in the room dissolved as fast as it came.

  
"So Hawke, wanna come to the Hanged Man for a pint of two? I'm buying." Varric knew full well when his friend was in need of cheering up, and wasn't about to let him drown his sorrows alone.

  
"I'd love to, but I really do need to unpack all the shit you guys left last week. Have you seen all the boxes in the library? Maker..." Hawke could feel the aches and pains right now, even though he had yet to even attempt such a feat. He could take down a high dragon, but a pile of boxes waiting to be unpacked was a fate worse than the deep roads.  
Glancing downwards in disappointment, Varric flashed one of his brilliant smiles, the distant fireplace catching the gold in his ears and eyes, making them look like a bottle of whiskey when the sun's final rays shine through it.

  
"Well, try to come see me when you have the chance Hawke. After all, the drunks there can only spout so much poetry to Rivaini." He chuckled deeply, elbowing Isabella. She pouted out of discomfort as Hawke smiled knowingly, well aware of which drunk that wanted to invite her to feast on his tender white flesh. Oh, the wonders of alcohol.  
"Anyways, Hawke, we brought you something." Hawke took the small box from Varric with a grunt, quickly realizing that it was much heavier then it looked.

  
"Varric, what the hell is in this?" He let some of the weight onto the handrail, easing the strain in his forearms.

  
"A complete collection of all the stories I've written about and for you." Varric's smug grin was proudly displayed for his accomplishments. If there was one thing Varric had a skill for, it was imagination and storytelling. Unfortunately for Hawke, the two went hand in hand.

  
"Oh Hawke," Isabella interrupted, " you're just gonna love the ones with Fenris in them." She gave Hawke a wink and snickered, and Hawke tried to fight the burning heat in his cheeks. Varric and Isabella had been convinced that the two of them would make a great pair, though Hawke couldn't see how such a thing would work. The elf hated mages, and well, Hawke being a Mage kind of hurt their chances. However, while never admitting it to Varric and Isabella, he made a mental note to specifically read those. It's not as if he hadn't thought of Fenris from time to time, but he didn't seem to like Hawke.

  
"Ah, um, you two should go get smashed. I'll be by sometime tonight." Hawke stammered, forcing social interaction to occur when his mouth was fighting him.

  
"Oh goody, it'll be so much more fun with you Hawke. I'll be teaching Kitten how to play cards tonight. You should be around for that." Isabella began to become restless at the sound of those words, the itch of liqueur, fighting, and gambling boiling in her veins by now.

 

"All right Rivaini, we're leaving." Varric gave Hawke a quick bow, like something he would do after telling one of his stories, and began to walk out towards the front courtyard.  
"Thank the Maker, I can only stand class for so long. So lacking in character..." Isabella wandered after Varric, and Hawke could barely make out what she was saying, thinking he heard her talking about the smell of tar and rutting.

  
Hawke's attention came back towards to books in his hands, and Hawke felt embarrassed, not wanting anyone to find them. He lifted them up with ease this time, and carried them into his room upstairs, setting them down gently on the window sill with a solid thud. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but Hawke was dying to look through them. Picking one of the journals up, he opened it up, and read the quick title of the story, The Throwing of Fists and Passion. Knowing very little of what he was getting into, he cautiously began to flip through the pages, his eye catching a particularly intimate phrase. His eyes got wider and his palms gripped the journal harder as he kept reading, not exactly aware of his surroundings anymore.

  
"Hello Hawke." Knowing exactly who the husky voice belonged to, he slammed the pages closed, and quickly dropped it on the top of the box, turning around, back erect and a sheepish smile on his face.

  
"Oh, hey Fenris, wh-who let you in?" Into his room of all places?!

  
"Bodahn let me in, and Sandal decided to take me to your room. That isn't an issue, is it?" His piercing green eyes looked at Hawke, something akin to concern written across his face.

  
"Oh no, not at all. You just surprised me."

  
Fenris nodded slightly. "Ah I see, I apologize if I have disturbed you."

  
Always so blunt, Fenris was.

  
"Its quite alright, that just means I need to be more aware." He had started to rub his sweaty palms on his red robe, trying to play it off. "Cause you know, Templars and stuff..."

Oh come on Hawke. You're not a fifteen year old boy about to kiss a girl, it's about time you started acting like it.

  
Hawke's little pep talk had taken a little too long, giving Fenris an awkward silence to deal with.

  
"Hawke, are you feeling well?"

  
"I'm feeling great, why do you ask?" His palms could've produced the Waking Sea at this point and Hawke was ever aware of it.

  
"You seem a little on edge is all." He obviously didn't believe him, but that's not as if that wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

  
"Anyways," Hawke said, desperately trying to change the subject, "what did you drop by for?"

  
"I have something for you." He awkwardly held out his hand, which had a mini figurine of something. It looked like a detailed... Hawke?

  
"It was Denarius's."

  
"No it wasn't." It definitely wasn't Denarius's.

 

"You think I lie?" A snarl was forming on Fenris's face.

  
"Well, yes, cause it's not his. I highly doubt Denarius has a mini wooden figurine of me just laying around the house."

  
Fenris's head ducked down a bit, knowing full well he was caught in his lie.

  
"Fenris, did you make this?"

  
"No."

  
"You're not a very good liar."

  
"Shut up Hawke."

  
Hawke wasn't even bothered by the comment, and he took the figurine out of the elf's small hand, taking enough care to not touch his sensitive markings. It wasn't a master's work, but it wasn't as if anyone could tell. Hawke could tell this had taken time, since the figurine had every detail, even the scar above his lip that Carver had given to him when they were just boys.

  
"Fenris," he looked up at the elf, and was met with those ridiculous puppy eyes, "this is beautiful. Thank you, truly." Hawke took a single stride towards Fenris and placed his large hand on Fenris's shoulder, feeling Fenris's warmth just from the simple touch. Fenris slightly flinched, not being used to physical contact, but eased a bit. Hesitating only for a moment, Fenris raised his arm grip Hawke's shoulder. Hawke was startled by the touch as well, not expecting Fenris to not only accept but also reciprocate the touch.  
"It was nothing I wouldn't do for a friend."

  
Hawke was tongue tied, not knowing what to say.

  
Fenris seemed to understand. "Hawke, I don't hate you. You're a Mage, and yet you're not. You're Hawke. I'm sorry if I have led you to believe I bore any disdain towards you."  
"If you had?" Hawke laughed, enjoying the moment immensely.

  
"Fair point." Fenris was the first to move his hand, and Hawke allowed him his personal space, already having breached it today.

  
"Would you like to come to the Hanged Man, Fenris? Varric and Isabella will be there and we both know they'd enjoy your company." Hawke placed the figurine on his nightstand as he said this, missing it's touch as soon as he let go.

  
"It's not their company that I seek, but I suppose." Unsure of how to take this, Hawke turned towards Fenris once more, searching out any emotion that he might be showing. He was obviously uncomfortable, with him openly rubbing his left hand; something he only did when he was nervous. Hawke wondered if he felt pain when it was him who touched his markings, and if so, why would he do it? Did it have something to do with pain taking his mind off of the problem?

  
"And whose company is it that you seek?" The question barely came out, and his voice was a bit shaky, though only those who knew him could've known right now. Fenris happened to be one of the most perceptive people Hawke had ever known, so it's not as if that small comfort even mattered. Fenris's mouth was slightly open, as if he were about to speak, only to close and open it two more times. Hawke waited patiently, already daring to hope for.... what? Hawke wasn't sure of what he was waiting for.

  
"I think," Hawke quietly spoke, "that is a question for another time. Wouldn't you agree?" Hawke mentally patted himself on the back for the smooth recovery, but was also relieved at the sight of Fenris easing, no longer being demanded to speak on things he didn't want to.

  
"Thank you... Hawke."

  
"It was nothing I wouldn't do for a friend." Fenris smiled at that, something Hawke found himself wanting to see more of.

  
"Shall we go to the Hanged Man?" Fenris nonchalantly asked, allowing the moment to pass.

  
"I was actually thinking we could pop a bottle at the mansion." Hawke felt a little bit bad for leaving Varric and Isabella to the drunks, but perhaps sometime tonight he'd stop by. The idea of unpacking boxes had long left his mind at this point.

  
"Oh really? Sour ale, vomit, and the smell of desperation not part of your interests tonight?"

  
"It's early, yet."

  
"Excellent point."

  
"You know, it happens to be one of the better taverns around here."

  
"They let Anders in. It can't be that much better."

  
"Fenris, do you like anything?" It came out harsher than intended.

  
"I like quiet." His voice was light, showing that he hadn't taken offense to Hawke's uncouth phrasing.

  
"Come. We have better things to do than idly bicker." Fenris began to back towards the hallway door.

  
"True, like getting drunk."

  
"A keen observation." Hawke led the way out of his room, but not before he caught a glimpse of Fenris reach for an apple sitting on Hawke's desk, calmly remarking on how he liked them.

  
And with that, Hawke ended up spending the night drinking and talking about past battles and listening to Fenris talk of Seheron and Tevinter, at least the stuff he liked about them anyways.

  
In the morning, he woke up in an armchair, a crick in his neck and a chill running through his body. Hawke looked over at the table in the room, Fenris nowhere to be seen, and an apple core laying on the table. Hawke decided that from then on, he would be looking forward to the months to come.


End file.
